


Convergence

by wintersnight



Series: Fracture Verse and other things [8]
Category: Batman and Robin (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: A thing I wrote, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-27 15:30:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20410072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintersnight/pseuds/wintersnight
Summary: It's several Tim Drakes from several universes, all converging to help out a certain Red Robin caught in Dr. Oz's trap!





	Convergence

**Author's Note:**

> A long, long time ago, someone asked me for something like this and I was a bit squeamish about it. I, ah, have a lot of universes lol. It happens that way I suppose.  
Originally, this drabble happened between Chapters 29 and 30 of Fracture, just a little distraction ;)  
Look for:  
Dr!Tm, Fracture!Tim (in the cowl), No Home for Dead Birds!Tim, and Justice is Blind!Tim as well as the Tim of DCs Rebirth.

Convergence

He literally gets the first sip at wonderful, blessed caffeine—before the glowy circle of light just _appears_ in his _damn_ kitchen, illuminating a gentle red that looks totally ominous and terrifying.

His mug falls to the linoleum with a crash and spilled heaven.

Welp, there goes _that_ ‘Uncle of the Year’ mug. Dammit. Layla worked so _hard_ on it.

“Dick! Jay! Got a little _sitch_ in here.” He yells, frozen to the spot where the circle has him penned in at the counter, eyes wide with _what the fuck is this now_?

In all his time as a doctor to, you know, vigilantes and superheroes, he’s never seen anything like _this_. If he’s learned anything in that time, it’s curiosity might take an appendage. Watch your ass around things that might smell of alien tech or evil bad guys (that jewel was from some guy name Booster. Just _really?_).

He must have sounded as desperate as he realistically _feels_ because bare feet are pounding down the hallway of his penthouse just as the circle flares crimson and starts to suck him in.

He knows he yells something back at his vigilante boyfriends because he does get a warped sound of them calling for him just as he gets sucked inside.

**

The pain in his head is _real_ when he finally comes to with a groan.

The hard cement floor isn’t doing him any favors.

Like, at _all_.

But memory kicks in and Dr. Drake is pushing himself up on weak arms, hair in his face, looking around with wide, calculating eyes before he realizes—

He isn’t alone.

The doctor is up on his feet, blinking, turning on one bare heel to take in the other four bodies lying haphazardly in heaps on the grungy floor around him, all in various states of _look at those birdies_.

He has approximately ten seconds to take in the clothes, tech, and other miscellaneous gear, but gets it in five. At this point in the game, he’s very familiar with things like utility belts, armored tunics, and the like, so he _knows_ what he’s looking at. The question is really whether or not he’s in with heroes or terrible bad guys, and those answers won’t be forthcoming until they’re all out of la la land.

Which _could be_ enough time to steal shit from their utility belts to use against them _or_ get them all the fuck out of here.

It’s 50/50 really.

But his legs are already moving him across the cold floor because assessment takes precedent over neat potentially fatal gadgets, taking a knee beside the first one that has a full cowl. Since he has some _experience_ with cowls, he knows the right place to wiggle his fingers in to get a bead on the his pulse (until the doctor _knows_ for sure, bad guy or good guy, no trying to get into the suits probably riddled with security traps unless it’s _go time_, but the utility belt doesn’t shock the ever-loving _fuck_ out of him, so he already has a plan). Breathing looks good, no signs of medical distress, no tears in the suit, no bloodstains. The harness is pretty cool, but that insignia? What the hell is _that_ supposed to be?

Whatever. This potential bad guy checks out, so on to the next one.

The second has on a domino with the whiteouts down and an odd-looking cape, like panels or something? Yeah, okay, whatever. This guy gets to be Mr. Terrible Style. He gets the same careful check— and oddly enough has the same insignia on his utility belt but a completely different kind of harness (so maybe they’re a group, like the JL or the Titans? Or the Legion of Evil…? Shit, he is _not_ up to playing Pet Doctor to a group of baddies. _Again_. It didn’t end well last time—you know, for the _bad guys_).

Okay then. Take a breath, Doc. Plenty of time to unravel the fuckery later.

The third has a similar red and black thing going on, same damn insignia, but he has an additional _wicked_ cowl-like, almost helmet thing that is shaped more like a bird’s face and head with a beak than questionable unconscious guy number one (his cowl is just straight-up _unimpressive_. C’mon bad guys need to have better imagination than _that_). The lenses, he notices are red rather than the usual white, so well there’s _that_. The suit, however, doesn’t have the armored tunic covering a bodysuit, but is just modified with light armor instead. It reminds him of Jason’s Red Hood body suit, the armor in the potentially fatal places. Good call.

The last body breathing is completely _out_ of the pattern (_one of these things is not like the others…_ damn you, Sesame Street, well-_played_). He’s got some standard black, pocketed pants and heavy boots, like ninja suit-ish or something. The plain rope is coiled over his hip from a pocketed belt that doesn’t look as advanced as the others. He doesn’t have any insignia Tim can plainly see. He’s also not wearing gauntlets and only half-fingered leather gloves, so checking his wrist for his pulse is easier than the cowls. (Bandaged fingers, not bleeding badly enough to be a problem, but he clocks the deets for later).

“Oooww_fuck_,” comes from over his shoulder while he’s trying to feel out the black suit in a non-pervy way and see if there might be, you know, _blood_ or something because it is seriously dim in this little dungeon-y vacay spot, and Tim spins abruptly, eyes darting around for something to use as a weapon or maybe to duck behind so he can eavesdrop to figure out _what the fuck he’s dealing with_.

The cowled man sits up, rubbing the back of his head, the whiteouts going around the closed-off room—

And lands right on the frozen doctor.

“I’m unarmed, don’t kick my ass,” he puts up both palms in that _just a civilian, don’t kill me_ pose. “If you’re hurt, I’m a doctor, and maybe if you know _how_ I got here and _why_, that would be just _super_ helpful at this juncture in the glowy circle kidnapping plot. Though I am _seriously_ not the person you’re looking for. I have a sweet fire escape, but no nifty suit. Sorry ‘bout it.” He def does _not_ mention the part where letting him _go_ would be in the guy’s best interest since his wonderful significant others can get a little _testy_ if he’s in things like, well, immediate fucking _peril_. He likes the baddies to be _surprised_ when Nightwing and the Red Hood bust down there door.

The guy’s mouth drops open a little and just a _blink_ before awake good/bad dude is literally _right in front of him_.

If he hadn’t seen Dick and Jay _move_ when they’re in the masks, he would have been totally more fanboy-ing it _up_ than he is right now.

“Holy _shit_, you’re fast!” Tim eyes the person that could probably snap his spine with, like, a pinky or in some other crazily specific way. “Seriously, this is a mistake. I’m a damn good surgeon, but like, _dungeons?_, I got nothing.”

The cowled vigilante, still feeling fractured as _fuck_ with the waking up in _who know where_, chuffs a laugh because what _the shit_ did he get into _this time_? (Well, looking at _himself_, it’s going to be ‘What is multiversing for $1000, Alex.’) He just has no room on his already full _plate_ for things like, random portals showing up to take him right off the back of Jay’s Ducati from behind (which, come to think of it, is actually a nice little _relief_ with whatever is going _on_ with those two and the almost, sort-of, _could have been_ maybe trying to-to kiss him...or something?) when there’s some crime fighting going down. Terrorists and meta-inducing tech are keeping him nice and busy fuck-you very much.

But this other him that is a little shorter, eyes going unconsciously to his utility belt like he’s making a _plan_ is probably going to need some _deets_ before he’s in a fight-for-his-life essentially against, you know, _himself_. One hand goes to the cowl, pressing what he needs to deactivate the security—

And pulls it off.

That leave Dr. Tim looking right into his own _face_.

“What. The. **_Fuck_**?!” He scrabbles back, almost tripping over his own feet and the unconscious guy on the ground when **this guy** _that is basically him_, moves so fast _again_, and grabs his arm to keep him from falling.

“Hey. Hi there. Tim, right? Yeah, me too. Welcome to the multiverse. Really, it’s scientifically fucked up, but a good lesson for the kids on what _not_ to do with space/time.”

The doctor sputters, “multi-_what now?!_ Wh— I— This is...this isn’t...this isn’t _possible_.”

The cowled version of him chuckles a little, grinning while rubbing the back of his head, “first time multiversing? It’s cool, you’ll get used to it. Things to remember: dick bag aliens suck in all realities, Luthor is totally a tool no matter where you go, and don’t fuck with the Red Hood just in case he’s still a little _pissed _about the whole Robin thing. That? Was not the best lesson.”

Now his brain is a puddle of mush, thanks..._him_. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. I’m a..._you’re a vigilante, too?_ Like-like Nightwing and the Red Hood and-and _Batman_?”

And the doctor swallows hard because—

(_He_ was Robin).

This vigilante version of him completely _stops_. Just. Creepy complete stillness.

“Uh, hello? You with me, uh..._Tim?_”

The second groan is followed by, “it’s okay, give him a minute. He’s probably not used to a world where we’re _not_ part of the Bat-clan.” The one with the weird cape is sitting up looking around. “Well, it could still be a post-Apocalyptic world, but it’s anyones’ guess at this juncture.”

The voice is completely _his_ yet again and Dr. Drake’s eyes go to the other two still _out_.

“You too?” He asks, mind_blown_, “another…” his hands waffle back and forth, “another Tim Drake? I mean, _all of you_ are Tim Drake?”

“Seems that way,” the other stands up, stretches his back and goes to the impressive computer on his wrist. Sooo, half-robots are _totally_ a possibility maybe? Ives is going to shit _kittens_. “I was already kind of in a multiverse where some alien assholes took over the planet. We just had a massively awesome war and sent them packing, so I _really_ didn’t expect to end up anywhere else but my original universe. This is kind of...strange. I checked the coordinates on the portal _three times_ just to make sure.”

“H-how is this...possible, I mean, the _physics_ don’t even support something like this! The-the doppelganger effect and-and!”

Dominoed Tim just waves the doctor into silence, “like I said, I was already in a multiverse, and two Tims can exist in the same space. Well, obviously more than _two_, but it is what it is.” He goes back to the computer on his wrist, trying to get his head in _this_ game after what he’d just left behind (that version of Dick holding him up, telling him he’ always have a _place_ there if he ever wanted to come _back_. That version of him welcoming him with _open fucking arms_ if he did want to stay; a world where he would _never_ have to go for a weapon against Jason Todd, and fuck, _fuck_…Dami was his _brother_.)

De-cowled Tim gives the doctor his attention after subtly moving to check the other two still breathing but out cold, “think of it like this: every major decision you make could go a few different ways. For each option, a separate reality breaks off. These _what-ifs_ create a thing called the multiverse, multiple universes with sometimes subtle, sometimes catastrophic differences.” He gestures to the dominoed Tim who gives a little wave.

The doctor blinks hard, his hands curl into fists by his sides, “so there’s a reality out there somewhere...there’s a reality where I let Nightwing bleed to death on my fire escape or called an ambulance and got his ident compromised, or a reality where—”

“Whoa,” dominoed Tim looks up from his wrist computer and raises the whiteouts, “bled to death on your _fire escape?_”

“That’s...that’s how I kind of met him in the mask. _Anyway_—”

“So you’re not—?”

“I’m a lover, not a fighter,” he shrugs, which is only _slightly_ untrue. “I’m not,” and he waves a hand at the two of them, “this. What you are. I went to Med School instead of Crime Fighting Academy or whatever.”

De-cowled Tim laughs out loud, shaking his head. “I was Robin first, five and a half years. The new name is Red Robin, and I’m with the Titans more than in Gotham—” but he pauses with it because, welp, that’s not really as true as it _used_ to be, is it?

Domino Tim shrugs, goes back to his wrist computer, but his shoulders are tight, “same mostly. Robin, whole lot of crime fighting, Red Robin, and I’m exclusively with the Titans. I only got back to Gotham if the _call_ goes out, and even then, I fight like fuck and go back home. This ah, alien multiverse thing just happened to...come up unexpectedly.”

De-cowled Tim gasps in a breath, “whoa, do you mean the—”

“Insurgents,” domino Tim replies softly, carefully.

“Wow. The Mind Trap is _such_ a pain in the dick.”

“Tell me about it. Gotta love when it’s Hood and the current Robin inside because _those two_.”

“Oh _fuck_, dude are you even okay right now? How long ago was—?” De-cowled Tim grips the other vigilante version by the forearm, bending just slightly over him while the doctor watches, wonders what these aliens, these _Insurgents_ are to them and why they’re so dangerous.

“Fine,” the domino replies, but his voice is..._off_. “As soon as we figure out how the hell we got here, I’ll be even better.”

“Okay,” the cowled Tim starts slowly, seeing maybe more than he _should_, but he respects his other self trying to keep his shit together when he’s very, _very_ obviously _not_ fine. Now isn’t the time for it, instead it’s time to get their fractured thoughts together and figure out all the main points, “All right Doc, tell us what you were doing and what happened to bring you here.”

Still checking on the two other unconscious vigilantes, he does just that, mentions calling for his boyfriends before the “portal” (and this? _Is his life_ right now) sucked him in.

De-cowled Tim has a small grin on his face while he surveys the cell they’re in, and domino Tim’s frown gets painful while he’s trying to get some kind of results on his computer.

“There’s a few things we can work with, but I’ve got no obvious feeds here. We need to wait until the others come to before we make a move.”

“Good plan.”

“Agreed. I don’t have anything I would need to assess them any further. I don’t see any signs of distress yet, so we’re good so far.”

Both vigilantes start digging in their utility belts, but the doctor holds up a hand, “the supplies aren’t the problem. X-ray, CAT scans, _those_ type of things would be _stellar_. But, I’m all out at the moment because smart bad guys are a pain in the ass.”

“True story,” the two Tims echo.

“All right, so from the readings just before I hitched a ride here, it looks like a disruption in space/time—” the domino Tim taps on his computer.

“Like a shockwave,” the other Tim supplies.

“—could have crossed two paths, but _four_ of them? That’s—”

“Statistically impossible,” the third one with the sweet helmet-cowl is up, bracing himself on his hands. Dr. Drake catches something off immediately, the way his head tilts to the side.

“Exactly,” the other two say in tandem _again_, seriously shaking him _up_.

“Someone probably planned this,” de-cowled Tim looks at them, “we’re here for a reason.”

“As much as I’d like to stay and figure out _why_, I have a really important meeting to attend tomorrow,” the helmeted Tim gets to his feet, his body a strange kind of taunt.

In his peripheral, he sees the other two Tims figure it out, too.

Dr. Drake crosses his arms over his chest, “the room we’re in is concrete or stone, floors and 100-foot or so ceilings. There’s a transparent door to your right, approximately twenty feet, no discernable way out.”

The red lenses swing to him but stray just over his shoulder. The blind crime fighter smirks at him, “did you say you’re _not_ a vigilante?”

He huffs out since well, he’s the _only_ one apparently, “I’m a surgeon. I just...have other hobbies. Like dating crime fighters, and playing Pet Doctor for superhero groups. You just...you aren’t looking _at _me.”

The other two Tims nod in agreement.

“You were balancing like the King Snake when you stood up,” de-cowled Tim adds almost gently.

Domino Tim folds his arms over his chest, “the fingertips on your gloves are...modified. You can probably read braille through them, can’t you?”

The fourth grins wider and laughs a little because, well, trust someone like _himself_ to get the tech. “I made a special pad to help me hack again, too. It’s good stuff.”

“Like you really _need_ it?” The de-cowled one grins.

“Always have a plan.”

The three vigilantes share a half-assed laugh as the fourth Tim removes the specially made cowl.

“_Fuck_,” domino Tim blinks, “I think I can hazard a _guess_.”

“We’re all probably aware the Wanderer is an ass hat.” And he already _knows_ what they’re looking at, the milky haze over his unfocused eyes. The radar net gives him good intel, outlines and impressions, not depth or detail. For that, he moves closer to the gathering, listening for the sounds of air rushing or gears grinding, anything to give them an out while placing the smallest differences in each figure. The doctor one smells like sandalwood and antiseptic. The one to his right with a bare face sounds oddly...calm. The contentment is in his voice. The one already in another multiverse _did_ come from a war, the scent of the fight, the heat of pain not on his _skin_ makes his voice get tight at moments (well, as the one that lost his _sight_ trying to get B back from time—he totally _gets_ that type of pain because one of them...maybe even two of them could realistically _stand_ to be anywhere near Dick).

And him? He’s just the guy that’s going to find their way out of here so they can all get a little bit of _why the utter fuck_?

“He took out your eyes instead of your spleen,” domino Tim observes, swallowing down the situation he just _left_, the two from _that world_ where he could have _stayed_ and helped rebuild—

_Not the time for regrets, asshole. Let’s just focus on the here and now_.

“I would have been better with the spleen, but it’s fine at this point.” And the de-cowled vigilante exchanges an eye slide with the dominoed one because it’s very _obvious_ the guy is bullshitting them (but well, who else would catch it _other than_ the dudes that lie to Batman?) “Luckily for me, Tam is the most bitchin’ PA _ever_.”

“She keeps _everyone’s_ shit together.”

“She multitasks _like a boss_.”

“Glad she rocks us in most universes. Stellar. So, how about we figure out how to get the hell out of here so she doesn’t eviscerate us? I, for one, am not on _that_ train.”

“Uh,” Dr, Drake blinks, feeling like he’s watching _tennis_ or something, _Wanderer? Losing a spleen or sight? Who the fuck is Tam?_ But the other three converge in a circle to start making _plans_, the de-cowled Tim pulling him along in by his bicep.

Domino Tim gestures to his half-destroyed wrist computer, “the only readings I’m getting are nil and none. I can’t place _where_ or _when_ we are in the time stream. I’ve got readings on the physical layout, but...that’s it.”

Since his tech is obviously _boss_ enough to get him through another multiverse, the others realize it might just be a step closer to _oh shit_ time.

“That doesn’t sound any kind of promising,” the last one of them is finally up and on his feet, holding his abdomen gingerly, “I, for one, am not a fan of the decor. Too medieval for my taste.”

The other three tense immediately, subtle slides of gloves in belts, the move for a bo, the shift of feet, and sway of hip for a _righteous_ roundhouse to the face.

De-cowled Tim groans a little, “shit, I _knew_ I was going to go villain in at least _one_ reality—”

“That costume isn’t going to make good guys quake in their boots, _dude_—”

“You’re not instilling confidence here. I expected better _style_ from a bad guy,” the sightless vigilante sighs.

“Whoa, _villain?_” The dark suited Tim throws up both hands, “how fucking _insulting_. I am _not_ a bad guy, I’m a _solo_ vigilante _fuck you very much_”

Three of the five Tim’s eyes are _huge_.

“Wait, so you didn’t start out with the Bats?” De-cowled Tim is blinking because, well _yeah_, he could totally see a world where he decided to be bad ass on his _own_.

Dark Tim’s eyes swing over, whiteouts raised, “I was a Bat at one time,” but his his voice is clipped, _tight_.

“Did...did you take on something other than Red Robin when Dick—” Domino Tim takes an anxious step forward because _yes_, that? So many _possibilities_. (And what would _his _team of loveable _assholes_ care if he...if he changed his ident, too? The Bats, _his world’s_ Dick, Jason, B, and Dami wouldn’t give two _fucks_ anyway).

The dark Tim glances away, his expression going completely neutral, “it’s...a long story. I was that name for about a minute, just long enough to peg B down and bring him back from random _time fuckery_. Gave it up right after.”

De-cowled Tim straightens a little, “were you Red Robin when you took out Ra’s and saved Wayne Enterprises?”

The dark Tim blinks and shakes his shaggy head, “I—I didn’t become CEO, not of Wayne Enterprises. I brought B back right after I took the League down. He was able to prove himself legally alive and save WE on his own. He sure as fuck didn’t need my help to do it.”

“That sucks,” blind Tim is already turned toward the creaks and groans of their prison, trying to get a peg on what could possibly be outside. “I’m not a fan of it, but Dick wasn’t taking up the CEO reign, so—” he give it a _there you have it_ flourish.

The awful tension in dark Tim’s spine tells a _hell_ of a lot more than he probably means to,“Dick and I... I’ll leave it alone. The details don’t matter, but needless to say it’s _fine_. I know where my place is, where it’s always _been_.”

“Please don’t tell me Hood laid it out for you with sharp, _pointy_ things?” Domino Tim bites out, his upper body tense with pain of his injuries and old burdens.

Dark Tim’s teeth flash white in a dangerous grin, “up-close-and-personal right after I found Bruce. He wanted to _congratulate_ me on how smart it was to get out before they dumped me in the garbage, which is probably true anyway.”

The doctor’s eyes are wide, his stomach churning with the bitter, angry acceptance right there for him to see. The fact two of the Tims reach for a the thin, nearly imperceptible scar at their throats gives him enough detail to see where things for them went. His fist tightens when he catches the moves, hastily aborted before it could be _obvious_.

“I’m sorry,” he interjects quietly, making the other four turn to him, “I’m sorry you don’t have what I do. Those two...are good to me. Better than good. Granted, I patch them up on a regular. Titans and JL too. Sometimes the Outlaws, but when—when it was the Joker...they came for me. They didn’t stop trying to find me, so...yeah, I’m sorry you don’t have that.”

Dark Tim straightens, tries to be neutral, “if they’ve got your back, then good on you, Doc. I’m better being out of the Bats actually. It’s probably something I should have done when Dad died, given up the R, let Damian the _fuck_ have it.” He shakes his head a little.

“My life...is _better_ now’,” Dr. Drake admits before any of the others can give into their own curiosity, “Before it was...it was _fine_. I worked, and took care of Steph and Layla, I gamed with Ives, and did the hardcore things on my time off. It was...it was a good _life_ and I made it for myself. But when I found Dick laying out on my fire escape, dying, I...nothing would ever be the same. I don’t think I could go back to _before_, not now that I have them,” he shrugs. “It’s the best relationship I’ve ever had.” And it’s true enough that he can’t imagine a world where he’s _not_ totally in love with Dick or Jay, and watching the others get anxious or angry at the mention of his name (except for the cowled one, so maybe hope?) makes his chest tight.

The dark Tim takes a few steps closer, tilts his chin so the doctor doesn’t have to look up, “I hope,” the unnamed vigilante begins hoarsely, “I hope they love you like you _deserve_ for the rest of your life, and never turn you the fuck _out_.”

The doctor sucks in a breath, his chest aching.

“I hope Dick...realizes what he’s _got_.” And the _this time_ hovers above him, around him because even though he’s tried to move _on_, tried to keep putting one foot in front of the other, tried to keep one step ahead of the pain, the betrayal, the _loss_ like it’s his fucking _spleen_, it kills him that in some other world, he gets to have it...and _keep_ it.

De-cowled Tim crosses his arms and glances at the doctor, “Dick... some of us may have a sore spot with Dick. He ah, he took the Robin mantle in a slightly douchey way. There was...a lot of reasons behind it, but still.”

The dark Tim laughs, a very _unfunny_ ha-ha. “Sore spot,” _he literally **fucked me** before he took my cape_, “sounds...about right.” It sends a chill through the doctor, makes the blind one’s jaw tighten enough that a muscle jumps, makes the de-cowled one..._blush_?

“My multiverse one is better than the one from my universe,” the domino Tim shrugs, but it hitches as does his voice when he tries to be light, to be _funny,_ “but they thought their Tim was seriously dead, so...There’s _that_.”

And the weak interruption breaks up the Tim Drake pow-wow: “Sss’okay. Mine...mine does too,”

The voice echoes off the walls, makes the vigilantes strike really impressive, dangerous-looking poses before they all just _vanish_, and the doctor’s mouth drops open because _holy shit_.

_Holy shit._

There’s worlds out there where he...He was _Robin_. (And the point hits _home_ when he sees the version in familiar red, gold, and green, when he _realizes_ this is what the rest of them might have looked like at one time--that all of _them_ wore the R). And he’s very carefully, very methodically _not_ going to think about all the old pain and injuries—_ lack of spleen and eye sight_—that are obviously marring each of the Tims he’s met in some way

Mentally, while the others gather around the transparent door keeping them in the cell, the doctor reboots because fanboying over _himself_ is just totally pathetic.

He makes his way to the transparent caging them in, the light dim and just enough to make out another cell across from them with someone chained up with some impressive looking manacles inside.

“Whoa,” two of the four Robins manage when they see the last Tim restrained and out of their reach. He looks beaten and battered, bloody and..._young_.

“He’s still Robin apparently,” domino Tim muses, bends his knees and leaps up to hang from the top of the door, looking for a way to get them out.

The youngest spits a mouthful of blood, “never Robin. R-Red Robin.”

The vigilantes all look at him and the expressions aren’t...positive.

De-cowled Tim’s jaw goes _tight_, a muscle jumping, “you don’t say? Too bad, I have a lot of good memories beating the shit out of the Rogue Gallery. They’re not fans of the R either.”

“Got to love how they fucked up _my suit_.” Dark Tim nudges the blind Tim, whispers a few deets about the younger version of them across the prison space. “A few details are off, but it’s the red tunic and green tights, black boots, with two shuriken R’s over the heart.”

“That’s pretty fucking _insulting_,” the blind vigilante, folds his arms and lowers the radar array back over his face, hits the system to check if his gear can find some _inconsistencies_.

Domino Tim just sneers, “right? ‘Never Robin’ my _ass_. I _bled_ for that fucking cape, for _that name_, man. That is just some bullshit B pulled on you isn’t it? Oh, I can’t have another Robin after Jason fucking _died_, so have another—”

“M-my call,” the youngest coughs out, his eyes bloodshot behind the domino. “Didn’t wanna be in those boots.”

“Fuck _that_,” all of the vigilantes echo as they climb, jump, move, and try to figure a way to get to the next one.

“It’s okay, I was never Robin either,” Dr. Drake throws in, also looking for a way to get through the door, “but just keep talking, okay? We’re going to get to you soon.”

“Oz is going to come back,” the youngest of them says quietly, “and when he _does_, we all going to die.”

**

He catches it without the help of the radar array, his enhanced senses painfully alert with the bloody Red Robin in the prison cell across from theirs in need of medical attention (and isn’t it just a _bonus_ that one of them really _is_ a doctor? Not a vigilante, but better than a villain any day). But the barely-there sigh nabs his attention just as he’s climbing up the far wall to try looking for some hidden catch because, well, no vents _dammit_.

“Got it,” he deadpans, shoving the end of his grapple in the ceiling and letting out just a little line. He jumps it get enough momentum for both feet to hit. The others are gathering below him when he gives it a second go, feeling whatever material used to patch over the old line start to give. One more hit and he breaks through for the blessed feel of openness.

“Don’t you love it when a plan comes together?” Domino Tim follows up after, leaning down to offer a hand to the doctor.

“Please tell me you don’t just make witty banter back-and-forth while you fight crime?” He takes the offered hand, slightly amazed at how this version is seriously back-bending like a _boss_.

“Are you _kidding?_” De-cowled Tim grins up at them while the doctor scrambles for some kind of footing since, you know, he’s rocking _pjs_ and shit. “It’s really the most effective weapon in my arsenal.” 

“Aside from bombs and multiple types of fighting styles,” dark Tim fills in, standing slightly back, the lenses in his domino still up.

“That too, but the banter takes real thought.”

“Bombs are more fun.”

De-cowled Tim jumps up into the vent, “I think you’re my favorite. We should make bombs together if this whole situation pans out for us.”

Dark Tim might chuff a laugh as he follows.

Once the dominoed Tim lowers him down to the blind one waiting to get him to ground level, the doctor is taking off to other cell, looking over the battered younger version of him (_them_) with a critical eye.

“You’ve got some bad contusions,” he notes, “want to tell us about this Oz guy and what the hell happened to you?”

“Oz...isn’t a fan of my come-backs.” The younger Red Robin replies, the one that might actually _belong_ here.

Wherever here is.

Blind Tim pulls the cover off the door’s control panel and flips out the hack-pad. As observed, the tips of his gloves _are_ thinner than the rest by a _mile_, allowing him to feel the movement of the pad as it spits out code.

De-cowled Tim kneels by the doctor, flipping out some impressive-looking tool that looks very similar to his bat-a-thing in his vigilante-only doctor’s bag.

“Okay, I have plenty of pocket-space in these pj’s,” his eyes don’t leave the hurt vigilante manacled down, already plotting where to start once they get inside. He flaps a hand at the others around him working on the door. “Give me stuff in case we get separated. Like things that will explode without killing me preferably.”

“Almost,” blind Tim is working with the radar array focused on the youngest of them. “There’s a bypass to trigger an alarm.”

“Of course there is,” the others grumble.

Domino Tim, leaner than the rest, is standing on Dark Tim’s shoulders while the two of them re-direct the security systems embedded in the door frames where most people _probably_ wouldn’t clock them.

Dark Tim reaches in a pocket of his belt, and shoves a handful of pellets at the doctor, “keep them _all_ separated if you can, but you can tell these because they have one indent for your thumb.”

“What do they do?”

“Smoke. If you get pinned down, put your thumb in the indent, press, and throw it on the ground. Got it?”

“Yup.”

Domino Tim pulls something out of a compartment of his harness, “here. This is a grapple. Point it at a wall or something mostly _stable_, thumb here, press and hold on. It’ll kick back at you when it fires, but it’ll fix in where you point it. Aim high. This button will reel you in so whatever you do, _don’t let it go_.”

“Thanks. Get-the-fuck-away tech is really nice to have.”

“Security protocol deactivated,” blind Tim informs and holds up slim, cylindrical thing. It looks like one of Nightwing’s escrima sticks, only shorter. He works the coding with his other hand. “This is a collapsible bo. Even if you don’t really know how to use one like the rest of us probably do, I have _faith_ you’ll be a natural.”

The doctor takes it as the door gives a few boops and starts to slide up.

“Jackpot,” two of the Tims deadpan.

Domino Tim hops off Dark Tim’s shoulders, but even though, you know, _vigilantes_, the doctor is the first one through the door.

The others are cautious while he’s kneeling by the obviously aching vigilante tied down with only his suit and a very distinct lack of weapons, gauntlets, and gloves.

“It’s mostly bumps and bruises,” the teenager informs the doctor, “getting out of the chains would be just _stellar_.”

“What,” the doctor chuffs back, looking around for approximately two seconds before he snags a whirlybird out of De-cowled Tim’s belt and starts to cut through the impressive if not torn armor, “need to work on your _sweet_ dance moves, Tim? I think the party can _wait_ until we make sure you’re not going to pass out, right?”

The hurt vigilante snickers, winces, and snickers again.

De-cowled Tim is already working on manacle number one while domino Tim is working on manacle number two. Blind Tim is skimming the room for any camera, vents, scary secret passageways, something _else_ that could be thwarted by some meddling _kids_.

“Okay, this is going to hurt,” the doctor warns in advance, lifting the vigilante’s leg, “but the good part about it is really,” he jerks fast and efficient with sure hands, earning a muffled cry from the youngest, “is that I can do it _fast_. Sorry about that, Tim.”

“S--S’okay, thanks. That already feels less like _ass_.”

“No sign of your gear,” blind Tim crosses his arms in frustration, red lenses swinging over to their general location.

Dark Tim gives a wave, “I’m going to check the other cell. We might have another prisoner to worry about.”

The hurt Red Robin grunts, “he’s got other heroes stuck throughout the building. N-Not sure how many. Only said it was interrupting his plan.”

“You were getting too close so he nabbed you,” de-cowled Tim puts the thing back over his eyes while handing the doctor supplies from his belt.

“Mmhm, think he...think he’s trying to--” a long sigh out and the vigilante slumps against the manacles.

“Shit!” blind Tim takes a knee on the other side, “hey, c’mon. You have to wake up. Tell us what you know about his plan.”

“He’s out. Concussion, contusions. No serious bleeders or broken bones. Whoever kept him here wanted him alive.” The doctor hates working without gloves, but douses the wounds with the antiseptic wipes, “he won’t die from these.”

“That doesn’t make the sitch any better,” de-cowled Tim pulls the cowl back over his face to secure it since they’re mobile now and bad guys have a terrible tendency to fuck with important people when the ident is compromised. You know, previous _experience_ and shit.

“No, but at least we can move him, and start checking out the territory.” Blind Tim is already pulling the youngest up, maneuvering the limp Red Robin over a shoulder. He’s very _carefully_ not being completely pissed off about the suit. _Nope_. Nothing to see here.

Meanwhile, Dark Tim takes approximately two seconds to look at the shadowy figure laying full out in the other cell in this creepy little hallway. His heart slams painfully, and a gasp torn from him, eyes wide behind the domino.

He’s already working on the door, fast and efficient, pulling up the old knowledge, the old experience he hasn’t used in _months_ of being on his own, of just taking to the streets instead of taking down the big, bad evils of the world. (He’d wanted something _simple,_ something to remind him where his roots were, something he could do without being a _Bat_).

But at the moment, there’s nothing more important than kicking it up a fucking _notch_. He triggers the door to open once security is deactivated, almost _vibrating_ with energy.

“C’mon, c’mon,” is a fervent prayer under his breath because _please, please be alive_.

“Whoa! Dude, did you hit the jackpot or _what_?”

But he doesn’t even pay attention to the others coming out of prison cell #2 or pause once the door is high enough for him to duck under.

“Shit,” cowled Tim growls, “he’s got something good,” and follows while the doctor and blind Tim get their younger counterpart the _fuck_ out of that cell.

What he finds makes him pause in the doorway, a gasp caught in his throat.

Dark Tim is cradling Kon-El’s face between his palms, talking gently to the woozy-looking clone.

“Kryptonite. That douche bag has to have kryptonite in here somewhere to keep him down,” domino Tim joins the hunt, letting the nameless one of them do his thing.

“Superboy!?” The doctor, however, takes a knee, takes in the sluggishly moving eyes, takes in the manacles and bodysuit, the slight green tint to the clone’s veins.

“He’s bordering on Kryptonite poisoning. We need to get him out and fast,” the doctor takes the clone’s face from dark Tim and tilts him closer to the light, watches the pupils react sluggishly.

Dark Tim is all aboard _that_ train, this mission now seemingly priority _one_.

“M’ seeing double,” the clone (who doesn’t know _why_ the other guy called him Kon or Conner, why this one called him...Superboy? He doesn’t know those names, doesn’t know why the hold on his face is gentle, easy. Nothing has been gentle since he was brought here.) “Who...who _are_ you?”

Dark Tim gets the first unlocked with his jaw _tight_, “in my world...I’m your best friend. Me and Bart. You...you’re _important_ to me there.”

The clone blinks up at him owlishly.

“You hit a bad fight in my world,” the doctor fills in, unabashedly pulling at the suit to make sure he’s not missing something else. “The Titans called me to help unscramble your DNA when some kind of magic made you human. We totally played Mario Kart for _hours_, dude.”

“Y-Your world?”

“Long explanation. We’ll give you the deets once you’re away from the bad green glowy rock.”

“It’s under the floorboards,” cowled Tim is right there when the second manacle unlocks, helping to pull the weak clone to his feet. “Hopefully, he’ll start to get his strength back once we get him far enough away.”

“W-who…?” His eyes are inexplicably drawn to dark Tim, blue eyes taking in the vigilante that is on his other side, already pulling the clone’s arm around his shoulders and walking him to the door.

“Tim,” the dark one fills in softly. “I’m Tim Drake. We...we all are in one way or another. We’re all from different worlds and in each of them, you are important to us, okay? Can we go with that for now?”

The clone blinks at the whiteouts while he shuffles forward, already feeling better with each step away from the meteor embedded in the center of the room. “You’re...one of the good guys. Thanks for not leaving me here.” His hand firms on dark Tim’s shoulder, and he quirks a small smile at the vigilante.

“Leave you here? No way in _hell_, Kon, ah... Your name is Kon-El in my world, or Conner, but--”

“I’ll go with it. S’ better than Project 13.”

Blind Tim resets the door to close and lock when they’re out, adjusting the unconscious version of them over his shoulder.

“Since we’re, you know, trying to figure out who the fuck is behind this, why not tell us what you know, Kon?” But blind Tim already has some theories going, his mind working at why his radar array is going haywire with configurations.

The corridor is full of shadows, each of the Tim’s narrowed-eyed, trying to keep to the dimness.

“...his called himself Dr. Oz,” even though the clone is feeling better, he keeps his arm over dark Tim’s shoulder, doesn’t pull out of the hold on his wrist. “He said he had to make sure time was ‘appropriately in his order’ for the plan to work. He broke into CADMUS, broke me out of the generation tube. He...he said I had a _purpose_. I don’t--I don’t know…”

“That’s good deets, man,” dark Tim tightens the arm around Kon’s (he could get use to that as a name) waist, “he broke you out of the lab. He needs someone with super strength and senses. Someone close to invulnerable.”

“He’s fucking with space/time,” dominoed Tim furthers the theory. “That’s probably how we all got _here_ instead of that Tim’s real world,” he hitches a thumb at the Tim laying over blind Tim’s shoulder. “My readings are still off the charts, so it seems like we’re--”

“Outside of time.” Cowled Tim finishes softly.

Blind Tim pauses when the body over his shoulder shudders, “it’s...I remember trying to--to solve a case. The missing heroes and…” the youngest leans up, braces himself when blind Tim bends his knees to put him on his feet, braces him with an arm.

“There’s something working in this universe,” blind Tim makes a shooing motion, gets the rest of them walking, “my radar array is also giving screwy readings, like it can’t connect a consistent timeline. Like there’s...some spans _missing_.”

Domino Tim nods in agreement as they take a turn, pacing carefully.

“Can you re-configure your radar to hone in on a control room or _something_?” Dark Tim glances over his shoulder. “If we can find out where his bad guy head office is, we can--”

“I,” Kon hesitates slightly, “I have, um, X-ray vision? Like the real Superman. I mean, I can _try_\--”

Doctor Tim’s gaze snaps over to the clone, “you _do?_ That is so sweet, man. How about you take a look at this guy for me first, okay?” He hitches a thumb to the hurt vigilante, “just to ease my conscience about him _not_ having broken _anything_?”

“Oh.” The clone unconsciously squeezes dark Tim’s shoulder before he lets go and turns. “Hi. I’m...um. Hi. Are you also...Tim?”

The youngest vigilante gives a half-grin and straightens up to stick out a hand, “when I’m not in the mask, yeah. Yeah, I am, but when I’ve got this kick ass suit on, you can call me Red, okay?”

The clone blinks at him and then down to his hand. He tilts his head like a puppy, not sure what to do.

“Like this, man. Just a way to greet people for the first time,” and this world’s Tim pulls up the clone’s hand, grips it, and shakes. He grins wider when the clone grins back.

“It’s nice to meet you, Kon. I’m Red Robin, and it looks like we’re going to have to save our universe with the help of some friends.” The youngest, beaten and bruised, but grinning like mad with blood on his teeth, glances around at the other _hims_ and back to the clone. “You with us, man? Because _believe me_, the fight? Is going to be totally _fucking sweet_, and you are definitely going to want _in_.”

And the clone, _Kon_, makes a-a noise that he _knows_ is called a laugh because just looking at the beaten-up guy in front of him, one that is perfectly confident and easy, one that seems to have such _faith_, he can’t help but make the noise again and even louder. It’s the first time since he’s come to awareness with strange memories, fighting the programming that he had to fight Superman because he knew it was _wrong_ without being told that he thinks he might have been created to do something _right_.

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, all my universes are so interconnected that most of this, well, not this specifically, but some of the little things happening here will probably show up again :D Look for ‘he comes back to the situation at hand’ in the next chapters of the active Tims because, welp, there’s your time skip when they go back to their worlds. My Batfam Dark Tower, lol. Omg, save me. Please save me.


End file.
